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Realms We Fashion 

A BOOK OF POEMS 

FRANCES BARBER 























~fS 3 S'a 3 

sb-sms- fa- 

/f 2- 3 


Copyright, 1923 
B. J. BRIMMER COMPANY 


furred from 
copyright Offlc« 

° m 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

AMBROSE PRESS, INC. 

Norwood, Massachusetts 


NOV 24 ’23 


hr 



TO MY FATHER 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT 


The author desires to thank the editor of The Yale Review for per¬ 
mission to reprint The True Concord which was originally printed in 
that periodical. 



CONTENTS 


Proem. 1 

The Day of Days. 2 

Had I Been Exiled. 3 

The Watcher. 4 

Comprehension. 5 

Far Hills .. 6 

Wish You A Tale. 7 

Sleep. 8 

A Bit of Sea. 9 

Autumn Trees.10 

A Golden Boat.11 

Location.12 

Dance-Hall Joan.13 

The Two Birds.14 

Color.16 

To the Hypnos of Praxiteles.17 

Invitation to the Gods.18 

Mysticism After War.19 

Temperament.20 

My Island of Rest.21 

Landscape Color.23 

Succession.24 

Recklessness.25 

Faces.26 

“A Maker of Music”.27 

A Pebble.28 

Their Cry and Mine.29 

Man Reasons.60 

The Traveler.61 

A Renegade in Granada.64 

A Dismal May.65 

I Have Seen.66 

Intangible.67 

Curfew.68 

The Fisherman’s Wife . 40 

xi 





































xii Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 

Building.41 

The Supreme Poets.42 

The Drudge.44 

The White Blossom.46 

Walter de la Mare.48 

Midnight. 49 

To R. L. S.50 

Grasse.51 

Disappointment.52 

Realms We Fashion.53 

Memories.54 

The Stoic I Seem to Be.55 

The Man Who Walks Along Our Road.56 

Life-Spirit.58 

The Foolish Virgins.60 

Lovers. 62 

The Painting.63 

I. The Still Life .63 

II. The Motion Picture .64 

Spend a Bit.65 

The Wind-Creature.66 

Torrents of Rain.67 

The Doubter.68 

I. Questioning .68 

II. Answered .68 

Fairies.70 

A Great White Wall.71 

Since You Have the Choosing.72 

A White Night.73 

Shadows.74 

Night-Time.75 

The True Concord.76 

Epilogue.78 







































PROEM 

What matters it that many bards have poured 
Their every utterance to a listening throng 
From early youth ; that they have never stored 
In garners of reflection their own song , 

But daily have gone shouting through the land. 

Time might have found those impulsive words unfit 
As life taught better how to understand 
The deep full current running under it. 

Time might have left them ever celibate , 

Unmarried to the final printed page ; 

And some like precious gems might have staid in wait 
For a better season than youth's raucous age , 

A better temper than the ungoverned one 
Which sent them forth to meet the morning sun. 


] 


2 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


THE DAY OF DAYS 

O day of days, you are every day 

That the turning earth brings into display ! 

You are each joy-giving intrepid one 
That holds in its arms a shining sun 
Or the merry morning that meets the snow 
And laughs outright when the wolf-winds blow 
And the traveler seeks for his path in vain. 

You are the time of harvest, the time of rain ; 

The time when the dallying buds come out, 

The time when they dawdle. You are hours of doubt 
That come with the weather no person knows 
When seeds are in ground that no person sows. 

You are moments allotted by circumstance 
Or chosen moments planned long in advance. 

You are gaiety, you are holiday season ; 

You are love and the time of the mind’s unreason. 

O day of days, you are every day 

And I hasten your manifold will to obey ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


3 


HAD I BEEN EXILED 

Had I been exiled to the bright Madeira — 
Compelled to sail to that seductive isle, 

Set like a flower-piece on its ocean-mirror, 

Gay bloom and purple rock banked to beguile 
All men who pass it so they stop awhile 
And from their ships watch dip on every hand 
The gleaming divers urging them to land — 

Would I have climbed with joy each landing-stone, 
Stepped like a native into old Funchal, 

All my ambition, all world-fever, gone 
As if by magic ? — there ceased to recall 
Life I had cherished while the madrigal 
Street-fiddlers played to welcome me ashore 
Held me in thrall content forevermore ? 

Girls to their handwork , tender-eyed , enticing ; 

Big rosy fellows coaxing to their sleighs , 

Rigged for the cobbles with some quaint devising , 

And if the ox-team starts or if it stays 
It matters not. Through sunny livelong days 
Upon the mart old-world cajolery sits 
And into it the care-free traveler fits. 

Had I been exiled — would no joy of mind 
Have come from this nor even, above it far. 
From the vine-clad villa for my use assigned. 
Radiant with beauty as such places are ? 

Would loveliness have only served to mar 
A life rejected ? At the very start 
Should I have died there of a broken heart ? 


4 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


THE WATCHER 

O watcher from the window, what see you passing by ? 

Is it the people that you watch or birds up in the sky. 

Or fancies that your mind has made that help your eyes to try 
To see them from your window ? 

Have you your strongest glasses on that double-strengthen sight 
So that you see all things by day ? Then when comes in the night 
Do you still see distinctly clear nor mind the tempered light. 

Nor mind the ghosting shadows ? 

And do you watch in preference to mingling with the crowd ? 

Is it that you are humble or else that you are proud. 

Or do you think no more of life need ever be allowed 
To souls content with watching ? 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


5 


COMPREHENSION 

On long roads of open country. 

Up slow lanes that lie between ; 
Following brooks that take a winding 
Course half-hid by meadow-green. 

Something got strong hold upon me 
That before I had not known, — 

You might call it comprehension 
As I trudged there quite alone. 

Suddenly I walked with comrades — 
Grass waist-high and bending trees, 
Though they had no speaking language 
For the first time seemed at ease. 

As though they assumed a station 
More befitting God’s great earth. 

There they toiled, my fellow-laborers, 
Struggling for their highest worth ; 

All their traits sought recognition 
And I gave it from my heart, — 

Power was theirs for plant-perfecting, 
Art and instinct played their part. 

Joys had they and disappointments — 
Here was nature humanized : 

Lovely flowers I caught at intrigue, 
Jealousies I recognized. 

Now I have my understanding 
And hereafter I shall know ; 

I shall walk the open country 
Growing with the plants that grow ! 


6 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


FAR HILLS 


Far hills that lie 

As far as I can see unto the west, 

You seem indeed more fortunate than I 
Since you can see from every purple crest 
More distant hills that do not even suggest 
Their outline on my clearest morning sky. 

And these hills see 

Yet other hills, and mountains winter-topped, 
Which in their turn watch others valiantly. 

So must the line keep on by nothing stopped 
Unless somewhere the sky itself is propped 
By some tall peak which shares its majesty. 

Why should not man — 

Who just as well as eyes has a seeing mind — 
See just as far on earth as his mind can 
And though he live steep mountain-sides behind 
Look past them and past others, unconfined 
As though the whole view lay within his scan ? 


Realms We Fashion—A Book of Poems 


7 


WISH YOU A TALE 

Wish you a tale of the whispering woods — 

WhaU what shall I tell f 

A man there was and he lived alone 

Midst trees that had gathered and closely grown. 

Nor had he a living creature his own. 

This, this will I tell ! 

He wandered about through the shaded day 
In a cautious reliable woodsman’s way 
And picked up the broken branches that lay 
At his feet for his night-time fire. 

Yet in spite of the fire the evenings were long, 

For there was no twilight those trees among, 

But the day dropped dead as a severed gong 
From a tossing bell-buoy’s hold. 

Yet the trees reached toward him their outstretched arms 
And each one of them had a heart that warms, 

And each of them all its particular charms 
To make him forget the world. 

He chose from them as his forest-bride 
A birch tree that with becoming pride 
Held her firm white body ; and he dwelt beside 
That gentle majestic queen. 

There grew young shoots for his hands to tend 
And tangled thickets to prune and bend 
And when came the autumn at summer’s end 
With leaves he covered the roots. 

But as years passed on much more of a tree 
And less of a man he grew to be, 

Till out of the change came the mystery 
Of the tree with a human soul. 

And still you may find it in forest deeps 
And still a guardian care it keeps 
Over other trees, and it sees and weeps 
And feels like the best of men. 


8 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


SLEEP 

Sleep my eyes and sleep my heart and sleep my tired brain ! — 
The morning will come rapidly and wake you up again. 

Then eyes will see and heart will feel and brain will realize 
That worry comes with waking hours and men who sleep are wise. 

For sleeping men are unaware of pending harm or fate ; 

No apprehensions trouble them and sleeping men can wait. 

If sometimes overcrowded days to nightmares weird inspire 
They are but of the stuff of dreams and just like dreams expire. 

Sleep my eyes and sleep my heart and sleep my tired brain ! — 
The morning will come rapidly and wake you up again. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


9 


A BIT OF SEA 

O I have come three hundred miles to find a bit of sea, 

And here where God’s light-giving sun shines down tremendously 
An ocean that is wide enough a hemisphere to make 
Lies summering and glimmering like any inland lake ! 

Here, prone before its vast expanse as if enchanted, I 
Lie listening to the crooning of its constant lullaby 
For a long, languorous afternoon, hour after idle hour : 

I who have known but earth and sky and shut-in pool before. 

Suddenly to my feet I spring ! — Right here before my eyes 
The tide has turned, the sea has changed and waves begin to rise ! 
The sky that was a flawless gem, entire is overcast 
With clouds that gather from all sides and move together fast. 

Although throughout the livelong day the wind has lain asleep. 

It rides a rampant sailor now upon the mounted deep. 

Which like a driven stallion frets at the bit and pulls 
With not one cry to check it save that of screeching gulls. 

These rocks that were so warm and dry are wet and steep and cold 
Where rush the waves up rapidly and, pausing in their hold, 

Belch out their fury in a trice and burst with cruel foam 
Till I who felt myself secure a timid child become. 

O I have come three hundred miles to find a bit of sea 
And here it lay just basking, contented as could be ; 

And now it leaps distractedly, wracked with its woe and sore ! 

A bit of sea, a bit of sea ! — My God, I ask no more ! 


10 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


AUTUMN TREES 

O autumn trees, like sunset tints of heaven 
Your leaves light up the landscape that I watch 
With blaze of crimson, rose and purple patch 
And orchid colors ! — All one moment given ! 

Is it because man could no more endure ? 

I think not always. This day’s setting sun 
Loomed in the sky and tall trees every one 
Stretched arms to meet it resolute and sure 
They could not only match it but surpass. 

As the sky burned brighter leaves grew more intense 
Then in an instant, like a jealous lass, 

The sun dropped downwards and the firmament’s 
Great face was dark ! Leaves could no longer show 
But limp and black swung idly too and fro. 


Realms We Fashion — A Booh of Poems 


11 


A GOLDEN BOAT 

Slow-riding on a golden boat, 

Drifting down an azure stream 

Between two low banks’ mirrored ferns, 
Transparent as a dream, — 

No need for skilful piloting, 

Sitting deep on a concave floor ; 

With the flowing current I move along 
And not with paddle or oar. 

And though the boat graze occasionally 
The embankment on either side, 

A touch of my hand on the lush fresh green 
And on like a twig I glide, 

With my life apparently trivial 
As that bit of a spreading tree. 

And nothing that seems to be more complex 
Than the low branch that hinders me. 

But riding on a golden boat 
Drifting down an azure stream, 

A voice deep down within cries out : 

“ Things are not what they seem ! — 

Though you ride in calm serenity 
On a dreamboat’s rounding floor. 

Still you face the life that is yours to face 
And the problems you had before ! ” 


12 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


LOCATION 

This country stretching round me now 
As far as eye can see 
Is just the place where I would wish 
That I might always be. 

Some hills rise high, some hills lie low ; 
The meadows to them reach ; 

The trees stand on sufficient ground 
To surely make of each 

A growing plant symmetrical. 

I like to have it so 

And not the wooded tanglements 

That in some landscapes show. 

I like to look for miles around, 

Not stare off through a gap, 

Nor cling to climbing mountain-sides 
As held there by mishap. 

In such a country would I build 
A house wherein might dwell 
All that is mine : a structure fit, 
Fashioned and builded well. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


13 


DANCE-HALL JOAN 

Hark, good Inspector ! 

Raised and reared with the rest of them — 
Tenement Tommy and Susie and Jem — 

Just Patrick’s Joan, 

Scarce woman-grown, 

I teach out the dance-steps, night after night. 

In this simple room that is right in sight 
Of the lures and evils of bright white ways : 

And the bit of money they pay me pays 
Me, their protector. 

Watch my pupils and you will allow 
I, of the Dance-Hall, teach them how 
To do things beside 
Just to turn and glide. 

I, Patrick’s Joan, teach them more of grace 
Than art and poise and the proper pace ; 

More of manners than live with the ball 
And die with the lights that close up my Hall. 

Out of the glitter. 

Roughs and rowdies, I lure them and then 
Train them and mould them and make them men. 
From the streets of vice 
I seek to entice 

With music so irresistibly sweet 
It starts them dancing from head to feet : 

And I show them the steps, the men and the maids, 
But naught will I have that drags down or degrades. 
Could aught be fitter — 

When the blood runs so low the heart near stops, 
Daylong in the listless, lifeless shops — 

For a living chance, 

Than a song and a dance 
With many a measure their feet can tread 
And a guardian-angel to stand at the head 
To keep them true ? Pray do not prevent ! — 

I am Dance-Hall Joan with a good intent. 


14 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


THE TWO BIRDS 

Colorless as a cold grey sky, 

A bird flew down and it brushed me by 
With the tip of a dingy feather ; 

And, though I was standing quite, quite alone, 
My heart cared not that the bird had flown : 

Just a cheerless little sparrow 
That was only a bird with a grey-brown wing 
And had not a sweet bird-song to sing. 

But, red with the world’s most radiant hue, 

A cardinal came and it passed me too. 

And I hung my head with sorrow : 

It was such a beautiful, beautiful bird, 

Whose carolled song I had sometime heard 
And I longed again to hear it, 

So it grieved me in my loneliness sore 
It should pass me by at my very door. 


Down the road where the tinman dwells 
And just his simple tinware sells 
For kitchen pots and kettles, 

I saw the sparrow wheel and stop ; 

The tinman came out of his shop 
And fed with crumbs from a bit of crust 
That grey bird, dingy as the rust 
Upon his own apparel. 


Even while the sparrow hovered nigh, 

I saw the lovely cardinal fly 
Up to the waiting tinman ; 

It perched itself upon his thumb 
And from his palm picked every crumb 
In a most friendly fashion. — 

Ah me, how my poor heart did ache 
To see how sweet a friend ’twould make ! 


Realms We Fashion^— A Book of Poems 


15 


V 


Then I cried out : — with anguish rife, — 

“ I should have known this truth in life. 
Had that brown bird with discordant throat 
Found in me one responsive note 
It would not have brushed by me ; 

And, following suit, the bird of red 
Might by my fingers have been fed. — 

Ah me, I should have known it ! ” 


16 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


COLOR 

Flowers, washed bright with the morning dew, — 
So bright are your flaming colors — 

The glistening sun that shines down on you 
Had radiance enough to make come true 
My dream of a lovely morning, 

Till out of my door to the sun I came 
And I found you here in your robes of flame. 

Flowers, I reel with your spendthrift waste 
Of colors I had not dreamed of ; 

You are luring my soul to a stronger taste 
Than I could have felt in a light so chaste 
As a stream of yellow sunshine. 

You are lapping me with tongues of fire 
And I feel the pangs of a new desire. 

Flowers, blue, purple, and rose and red, 

You bloom in a blazing gamut ; 

I wander wild from bed to bed 
And I wish you had bloomed snow-white instead. 
And left me a golden morning 
With naught on my path but sunbeams to find. 
And deep within me a peace of mind. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


17 


TO THE HYPNOS OF PRAXITELES 

(In Troublous Times) 

O little god with the winged head 
And the eyelids downward drooping, 

You soothe me into the ancient sleep 
That the gods had power to give or keep — 

The sleep that really was slumber, spirit-deep. 

The artist that made you made you god, — 

Praxiteles the careful ; 

Through groves he moved where the night wind stirred 
To watch the wings of the night-flying bird, 

And he caught the whole of the vision with eyes unblurred. 

He saw the god with the hovering wings 
And the body bending forward ; 

He saw the eyes and the mouth and the nose : 

He caught the meaning that in them glows 

And straightway he found a solace to calm men’s woes. 

Then pagan god to a pagan age 
The mighty sculptor chiseled : 

He carved as he saw with unerring truth 
A living figure of infinite youth, 

Sleep-bearing — yea verily, Sleep himself, in sooth ! 

Now only the one-winged head remains, 

Yet the same significance lights it, 

So that even in seasons of hellish war 
Or rumors of war, when both near and far 
Confusion reigns in the world, still god you are ! 

And still in your holding abides that peace 
And that sweet wound-healing quiet, 

Which worn-out mortals so sorely need 

And which they might have, were it not for the greed 

Of quarreling nations who care not how much men bleed. 


18 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


INVITATION TO THE GODS 

The war is over — let the gods come back, 

That once men knew in close companionship. 

And out of mercy let them come to me 
And let them kiss me on both wasted cheeks 
To bring to life dead roses. Let them stir 
Pain-smothered fires to heat, till reawakes 
Music I used to make with singing words 
That held my meaning. I would dance again 
To Satyrs' piping, Pan-encouraged. 

O winds, race through the meadows living men, 
And wood-nymphs, follow ! — yesterday unknown. 
Chase out remembrance from a harrowed world 
And teach it laughter ! Spark of energy. 

Inhabit everything upon the earth ! 

The war is over — let the gods come back ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


19 


MYSTICISM AFTER WAR 

Weary I stand within my working shop 
Worn with the fret and welter of the war. 

Bound even yet to wheels that cannot stop 
But whirl unceasing like some giant car. 

Forcing sharp tools the rushing wheels between 
So long have I been fixed here head and hand, 
Turned to the tale of stern productiveness 
Knowing no heed save that of high demand ; 

What am I grown — to what must I confess. 
Dumb-mouthed, dull-eyed, unhuman, a machine ? 

Eyes that once saw must see with greater sight, 
Fingers reach further, bringing to the light 
Wonders long-hidden : hold them till the soul 
Quickened with insight makes the vision keen, 
Joining as one the seen with the unseen. 

Short sight grow mystical then watch unroll 
Kingdoms of richness spread out to bring back 
Life, love, immenseness, — all I seem to lack ! 

Sense born within me that I dared not use 

Through years bygone lest with immoderate mind 
Grasping the spirit I should thereby lose 
All that was real, to true proportion blind ; 

Now I unveil thee ! — turn me with thy power 
To something more than a revolving wheel. 
Something more vital than the tempered steel 
I have become. At last has come thy hour 
Perfect the balance ! — war’s necessity 
Has dulled my being — give to me that sight 
Will rescue me from out of drudging night. 

And let my soul see as it was meant to see ! 


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TEMPERAMENT 

A quiet little person lived 
And went her quiet way 
Through the unchanging tediousness 
Of common every day. 

She tended to the many things 
That make a house a home 
Instead of an abiding-place, 

Nor cared if one should come 

Or if she sat each night alone 
Ry her brightly burning fire 
If but upon her mantelpiece 
Some flower matched desire. 

And though on summer nights she roamed 
Beyond her garden gate, 

It needed no more than a star 
To stir her and elate. 

Until the shifting years passed by, 

Nor changed her in the least. 

Nor ever took away from her 
Her imaginary feast. 

For her two eyes were glowing lamps 
And back of them there was 
A certain kind of temperament 
Which only that one has 

Who in his own soul finds enough 
To make his life complete, 

Nor wants his joy in packages 
Thrown bluntly at his feet. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


21 


MY ISLAND OF REST 

I sought for myself an island, 

Wooded and low and green. 

Away from the hill-blocked highland, 

The country where I was born, 

Whose sun blazing forth at morn 
In the crotch of a great ravine — 

As in arms akimbo — 

Seemed a waiting limbo 

That hung a planet of fire heaven and hell between. 

I had worn out my youth with watching 
Sheer heights that dizzied my soul ; 

With watching and wondering and catching 
A vision that kept me from sleep 
Of cliffs which grew ever more steep 
As they climbed to a rising goal. 

I blamed the vision 
To the indecision 

That seeks for a higher dream than its powers control. 

I found me a pleasant river 
And guided my dark canoe. 

With scarcely the paddle’s shiver 
As it dipped in the shallows and pools, 

Till it came to the land Rest rules 
And the river of Rest flows through. 

I touched on an island 

And I said : “This is my land ! 

Here will I build me a house and will rest me too ! ” 

I built out of logs a dwelling 

Where the whispering wand-reeds sway 
With the breeze and, the fever quelling, 

Such a master I grew to be 
That the vision eventually 
Sank into unseen decay. 

My eyes saw merely 

What they could see clearly — 

An island of absolute rest that could last alway. 


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When, lo, some sort of spirit 
Cried out with engaging power ! 

My ears could not choose but hear it : 

It whispered like wind in the reeds ; 

It showered down like rain for the needs 
Of unripened fruit and flower. 

It was the dream unexpected 
My eyes had rejected 

And persistent it cried out to me from that very hour. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


23 


LANDSCAPE COLOR 

Green of trees that leave with summer. 
Green of shadows underneath them ; 
Green of grass beneath the shadows 
That the slippery tree-toads stride. 

Blue of God’s o’erroofing heaven, 

Blue of hills that loom to meet it ; 

Blue of sea between the mountains 
Like a fairy vision spied. 

Gray of clouds that sail the sky-blue. 
Gray of roads that lead to somewhere ; 
Gray of zigzag wooden fences 
That the swaying fields divide. 

Satisfied my eyes with color, 

Satisfied my mind with beauty 
And, far through the distance gazing, 
Deeper longings satisfied ! 


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SUCCESSION 

Spring has turned into a summer through an overnight of gloom ; 
Fairies working in the darkness gathered all the lilac bloom 
Till the air has lost their fragrance, but I naturally assume 
They have stripped the shrubs of blossoms to preserve the rich per¬ 
fume. 

God has supplemented roses. Now I see them as I scan 
Bushes yesterday but budded seeming colder, graver than 
The green hedge around the garden. In the night as fairies ran 
Through the gate with lilacs laden blooming of each rose began. 

They will come to pluck the petals for some wondrous potpourri : 
Plants aflame with red this morning will tomorrow empty be ; 

Other beds will usher flowers to their apportioned ecstacy. — 

This is God’s supreme arrangement — this He does intentionally ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


RECKLESSNESS 

Unreasoning as a lashing sea, 

And reckless as its waves, 

A billion men are rushing on 
Into a billion graves 

And not a single one of them, 

High-charged and spirited, 

Takes thought that in a little while 
His body will stop dead ; 

And only that part will live on 
Which now whips furiously 
And tortures him, and it will live 
Unto eternity 

And beat its marvelously-poised wings 
And rend itself with rage, 

And burn with the heat of consuming passion 
From age to distant age, 

Unless he now can conquer it 
And get it in control, 

And make of it what he would have 
For his immortal soul. 


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FACES 

Such beautiful women are in the world ! — 
Such ugly women, too ! 

It was decreed that I should stand 
Half-way between the two. 

No beauty lies within my face, 

No ugliness lies there 
To brand it individual 
And help me do and dare. 

I wear the simple countenance 
That would a mirror shun, 

Because it is the stereotyped 
Uninteresting one 

That hundreds, passing, never see : 

Nor do they care to trace 
The visage that is underneath 
Such an inconspicuous face. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


27 


“A MAKER OF MUSIC” 


Blow out your music or play it on strings, 

But open the window and let it have wings ! — 

From below on the street I have noticed the sign : 

“ A Maker of Music ” ; at once I divine 
A blending of motif amazingly true, 

Amazingly simple yet complicate too, 

Such as none but a master-musician could find 
Though he worked at his instrument time out of mind. 


It may be your music is played upon keys 

The length of the keyboard — how then must it please ! 

A piano’s arrangement would give your hands space 

For your melody’s treble and below for the bass 

Your well-sustained octaves, your background of chords. 

Yet this is not needful : a zither affords 

To a player of zithers abundance of range 

Though his music to others seem stunted. 

How strange 

If it should be a zither ! 

It may be a flute, 

A cornet, a trombone, an old-fashioned lute ; 

A violin held to a fast-throbbing breast 

While light fingers play ! — of them all that is best. 

My heart would thrill to it as though it were love 
And I were a lover ! 

No sound from above ! 


O blow out your music or play it on strings 
But open the window and let it have wings ! 

It will be what I ask for, what you only can give ; 

The air will sustain it and help it to live ; 

It will vibrate : its timbre will people astound 
Who move apathetic down here on the ground. 

It will stir them and wake them and cause them to be 
What they most have desired. 

Come, inspired melody. 

And in coming come quickly to bring my mind peace 
Lest, dulled from long waiting, expectancy cease ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


A PEBBLE 

Could I have ever dreamed a dropped-in pebble 
Would work a quiet pool so much of woe 
As, standing on the brink, from careless playing fingers 
I let it go ? 

I watched the water change to instant turmoil — 

A very sea of darting, leaping things 

That in their havoc riled it from its surface downwards 

Right to its springs. 

A bird upon a tree shrieked disapproval ; 

A growing flower upon the bank looked in 
And seeing not, as it was wont, its own reflection 
Dropped down its chin. 

I walked along to find the selfsame mischief 
Had even a winding brook disquieted 

Which from the pool ran down ; sharp voices, reprimanding, 
Shrilled far ahead ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


29 


THEIR CRY AND MINE 

I shall not ever write to please those men 
Who with loud footsteps tramp this world of ours, 
Wdiile each one cries out over and over again : — 
So confident is he of his own powers — 

“ I am supreme ! — I need not man-made laws 
But by my own abide. I need not God 
Nor any strength to succor me because 
Such a force am I in my own period ! ” 

My cry is different. Life’s complexities 
Are past my working out unless some might 
Greater than mine upholds me — might that sees 
Past the short interval of day and night, 

Making up my lifetime through the centuries 
Of peopled worlds, — of darkness and of light. 


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MAN REASONS 

God’s sky above me, circling over all 
His great green earth on which my feet may fall 
Safe as on rocks fixed to hold back the sea, 

All years that have been and are yet to be. 
Whatever chance here, evermore I shall 
Live happily. 

Flowers strewn like wildfire color of its flame, 
Reflected light of the Light from whence they came, 
More they convince, the more profuse they grow, 
Man on this earth should be content to know 
Amidst such beauty he springs from the same 
Arc-light also. 

Yet he is a mortal much more sensible 
Than all the blossoms he on earth could cull ; 

So must he be a far more vital part 
Of that great glory : naught less than its heart 
Throbbing tremendous with life overfull 
Made his to start ! 

And just so far as man excels the flower 
Must he surpass it in perfected power 
If he would meet his Maker unafraid. 

O timid one, the same Power that has made, 

Has given thee years, — the blossom but an hour ! — 
Be not dismayed ! 


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31 


THE TRAVELER 

O travellers on the seven seas, 

My joy consists today 
In taking ship with one of you 
And sailing straight away ! 

I ride the boisterous waves you ride 
Through leagues of ocean lanes, 

Before the plunging beasts subside 
Exhausted by their pains 

And night comes quite as the day : 

No wind disturbs the deep, 

Which with its watery sheet spread out 
Scarce dimples in its sleep. 

For days the ship moves not at all. 

And burns all day the sun, 

And heats as though it never stirred 
From its meridian. 

Like atoms in that vast expanse 
Upon the decks we drowse, 

While even the crew lack energy 
To swagger or carouse. 

The captain calls : “ We are becalmed ! ” 
Those dulled ears heed it not 
As though all hands were quite content 
Forever there to rot. 

******* 

O passengers on such a ship, 

I grow dissatisfied ! 

Though gladly did I sail with you. 

The ocean ways are wide, 


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And, traveler as indeed I am 
Whose journeys just commence, 

I find myself endowed with wings 
And, with the sea-bird’s sense, 

I start me on a northern course 
To the width of my pinions spread, 

To find a ship that has life to sail 
And a sea that is not dead. 

I may board a schooner with stalwart masts 
For ice-clad regions bound. 

Then shift in a trice to a square-rigged brig 
Seeking islands not yet found. 

I may sail to the far horizon-line 
Of the jewel-colored west, 

Then skim the main where the dawn is born 
To grasp it from its crest. 

******* 

O travelers on the seven seas, 

You each on a single boat 
Sail just where it will carry you, 

Or, lifeless, lie afloat. 

While here within my silent room 
More privileged am I, 

Who am just confined in my journeyings 
By the bounds of sea and sky ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


38 


A RENEGADE IN GRANADA 

There was a riding renegade, 

Accoutred well and unafraid — 

A Spaniard. 

He climbed from Andalusian plains 
Up steady hills where still remains 
Upon the great Sierra’s spurs 
The city of Granada. 

Like as a chief whom naught deters 
The climbing streets he clattered through 
Unto the gates that enter to 
That Moorish stronghold long since lost — 
The memory-filled Alhambra. 

No lazy guard dared him accost ; 

He rode up to the very towers 

And left his horse where cypress bowers 

Could shield him from the intrepid sun. 

His ardent quest he then began : 

He paced the halls and courts Moresque 
Beneath arcades of arabesque 
And fretwork. 

The walled-in gardens he explored ; 

The beetling towers, with mystery stored. 
Till he had searched the palace through 
And back again returned unto 
That most of all unravaged part, 

The graceful Court of Lions. 

There to his knees the renegade 
Dropped reverentially and prayed : 

“ God of the Moors, Thee, Allah God, 

And Thee alone I worship ! 

For this one thing I call thee God : 

Thy law forbids to paint thy face 
As Christians paint in every place 
And frame in shrines of glittering gold 
Their Jesus. 

Their carved Madonnas, bought and sold. 


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Sneer out at me in mockery ; 

Apostate I am proud to be : 

I am sick of Christian images ! ” 

Close by the fountain, motionless, 

They found prone down upon the ground 
And smote ere he could make a sound 
The bandit. 

They had sought for him unnumbered times 
And in his death a hundred crimes 
Of every daredevil degree 
He with his lifeblood answered. 

Yet, spite of seeming blasphemy, 

He had sought a higher Mercy out 
Than he had known, and without doubt 
Upon His great white mercy-seat 
He at that moment found Him, — 

Not the strange God he thought to greet, 
But his own God above the taint 
And sham and coarse idolatrous paint 
Of figures fashioned out for him. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


35 


A DISMAL MAY 

You cannot put for all your dismal face 
The new-blown leaves into their buds again. 

They answered to a time of better grace 
Although a season marked for wind and rain. 

They felt the breath of April soft as May 
That kissed them till they opened with delight 
And, following suit, the fruit-trees, pinched and gray. 
Turned into gorgeous nosegays overnight. 

Yet since to mar was May-time never meant, 

There is a noble purpose in the cold 
Unseasonable weather. She must be content 
To obscure the sun and with murk face to hold 
Spring at a standstill. So does she prevent 
The bloom she loves too soon from growing old. 


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I HAVE SEEN 

I have seen grasses — 

Lank and grey they grew — 

The daybreak touched them, held them for its hour 
Nor left them for earth’s most alluring flower. 

Weaving them wondrous blossoms of its dew. 

I have seen children — 

Pale and undergrown — 

The world used badly but could never quell 
Their perseverance, for the Lord used well 
And granted them great genius for their own. 

I have seen women 
Weighed down with the woe 

A whole world watches ; through a gaping throng 
Jeers unregarded, voices bright with song, 

They move triumphant ! Whence their power ? — I know. 

For I see others : 

Every sparkling gem 

Of luxury crowns them, yet laggingly they climb 
A tedious steep of uncompleted time, 

So they their souls are cheating. — Pity them ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


37 


INTANGIBLE 

Little silvery shadows, you have kept me from my way, 

Looking down and loitering to watch you in your play, 

Bending down and catching you as anybody may — 

And finding only shadows in the sunshine ! 

Little golden sunbeams that down my path extend, 

A radiant train of brilliants that seem to have no end, 

I reach my hand to grasp you and with the motion rend : 

You are only little sunbeams in the morning ! 

Little simple childhood brimming joy from morn to night — 
Proud with your young adventurings and swift-awaking sight — 
I fold my arms about you to hold a thing so bright 
And find you just a moment in a lifetime ! 


Realms We Fashion—A Book of Poems 


CURFEW 

How the magnitude of night 
Could put our daytime out of sight, 
Cover up its vast machine 
As if it had never been : 

Stifle every sense of care 
That as flagrantly can stare 
At us by night as it does by day 
If we let it have its way ! 

Darkness could fast-close the door 
To the danger we now deplore — 

Half that should be housed, without, 
Moving haphazardly about. 

(Strange no more of them collide 
With a lantern as their guide.) 

All unsightliness as well 
The night could hide or else dispel 
If we would but let it be 
In its first supremacy. 

Rest for tortured hrain or tired ! 

Soothing rest for workmen hired , 

Men or maidens , weak or strong , 

Toiling , toiling , all day long ! 
Pleasure-loving calm your mind , 

Time for pleasure you would find y 
And for every idling one , 

Day but so much sooner done ! 

To what new wonders would we wake, 
Whose unrested minds and bodies ache, 
If we might rise from nights like those 
God in His great wisdom chose 
For His Eden ? — His place where man 
Could best work out His perfect plan 
With healthful vigor of working days 
And beauty growing in all his ways ; 


Realms We Fashion — A Booh of Poems 


With nights inviolably dark and still 
In which the great law to fulfill 
Of absolute, undisturbed repose. 

This God in His great wisdom chose 

For man. Like Adam and Eve we have wandered away 

From Eden to the new disturbance of a night turned day. 


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THE FISHERMAN’S WIFE 

I have buried my husband down under the sea, 

Rowed the boat out and trimmed it and dropped him alee ; 
The dusk o’ day helped me and silent sank he — 

The husband that heaven gave me ! 

I weighed down his garments with stones that would sink — 
The sea was as black and as quiet as ink. 

Now I need not to fret me nor worry nor think, 

Handsome husband down under the sea ! 

Flat he lay in his boat like a figure o’ wood 
From drinking of liquor too much for his good ; 

I rowed him out softly, I shed not his blood : 

Only forty days married were we ! 

I can see moving slowly his gay paramour 
To a place where she’d meet him along the sand shore : 
That’s his child that she’s flaunting so near to my door, — 
How laggard a lover he’ll be ! 

She has crawled to my doorway up over the sand, 

She has pierced me with eyes that I could not withstand ; 
She has read my grim secret right off at first hand 
And sunk down in her deep misery ! 

She has torn from her breast what she dared not hide more : 
It is written and signed he was married before. 

My God ! she’s his wife — I his gay paramour ! 

It’s her husband lies under the sea ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


41 


BUILDING 

What are you building, Johnny, Johnny, that grows already so 
broad and high ? ” 

“ I am building the house of imagination and before I stop it shall 
reach the sky 

If I only can find enough blocks for building. Look at these, kind 
sir, some are round, some square, 

And some are fashioned like Grecian columns and support the archi¬ 
traves well in air.” 

“ You cannot find enough blocks for building as high as the sky a 
single wall : 

You cannot find enough blocks for building and if you could it would 
only fall.” 

“ I shall find the blocks as I keep on building though they may be 
blocks that you cannot see ; 

They will rise each one to the structure’s making and hold their places 
permanently : 

The blowing wind may whistle through them, the rain like driven 
javelins pour, 

And never a single block unfasten but leave them firm as they were 
before. 

The scorching sun will not misshape them nor winter warp them with 
its cold. 

Though the windows are open to the outer regions where living people 
grow withered and old. 

I build me a house of imagination and it shall stand when your palace 
of stone 

Falls down and crushes its own foundations and litters the earth like 
a field rock-grown. 

But how high I build or how near to heaven, your eyes seeing not, 
you will never know, 

While you pace the place of your tumbled ruins and reckon your 
losses far down below.” 


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THE SUPREME POETS 

It seems that they all expression sounded — 

Those English poets parcelled out by Time 
To pour forth words so musical, so rounded 

And filled with thought, they left each piece sublime. 
We may write our most crucial moments down, 

Pressed each with weight of actual joy or tears, 

Yet they will seem, compared unto such grace, 

But commonplace. 

How little can we those fixed voices drown 
Or, waiting the arbitrament of years, 

Expect to be 

Like them immortal in the ages’ psalmody ! 

It is as though through galleries we fared 

Where, tier on tier, such marvelous paintings hung, 
We stopped before each one and stared and stared, 

Till, finally, with tightly-cloven tongue 
We passed outside, inadequate, afraid ; 

Compelled in the vast universe to find 
A blade of grass, 

A lowly creature happening to pass 
Or fallen acorn in an oak tree’s shade, 

Were all that we with small, bewildered mind 
Could really comprehend : 

And thus must loveliness affect it to the end. 


Yet we are bound, with a stronger mood permitting, 
To feel sometimes that we can understand, — 
Some flower will greet us, maybe all unwitting, 

Some tree drop its lush fruit into our hand. 

We paint the picture : words burst fully-born 
Not of ourselves but through us till they seem 
Not the poor phrasing of a poet’s dream, 

Not written manuscript, but every line 
A gift divine ! 


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43 


Soon are they, too, of lasting beauty shorn : 

Matched to the older art our colors fade. 

Not theirs ; our gleaming emeralds turn to jade. 

No bird we glorify 

That can compare with those which jewelled their clear sky. 

Into the daylight of the sunniest day 

Brightness they threw that made it even more bright ; 

Into night’s darkness, heavy though it lay, 

A deeper dreariness. Yet, day and night, 

By many more sensations are we stirred, 

In this new epoch of experience, 

Than they could then have known. In spite of this 
We have no sadness like their melancholy 
Nor fun to match their folly ; 

No ecstacy of ours equals their bliss. 

And these by Time have never been interred 
But live today as they did just commence 

Their rhythmic march 

Down the long centuries whose sunbeams blanch and parch. 


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THE DRUDGE 

O sweet young World, dance light with me ! 
Dance light and gay that you may see 
How very charming I can be, 

Freed from my care ! 

Well dance we may : 

It is holiday 

And merry tunes the pleased musicians play. 
Now fill with flames of fresh new fire 
The empty wells of my desire — 

So feed them they cannot expire — 

And I may dare 
Even to move 
To some new love 

And, proudly, my wakened fascination prove. 
O sweet young World, dance light with me 
And flirt awhile that you may see 
How very charming I can be, 

Freed from my care ! 

( They dance ) 

O sweet young World, dance not so gay ! — 
My feet are cold as they were clay ; 

As it were swooning quite away. 

Faint beats my heart. 

The love I sought 

Has turned to naught 

And all my joy with dicontent is fraught. 

Bring back the wrinkles to my face ! — 

Bring back my lagging lack of grace 
And let me, in my former place, 

Perform the part 
I lately spurned ! 

The lesson learned, 

I would have each and every care returned. 

O lead me from the dance, I pray ! — 

My feet are cold as clods of clay ; 

As it were swooning quite away. 

Faint beats my heart. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


45 


( The World dances by) 

O sweet young World, pray look at me ! — 

My children stop their play to see — 

So very, very, happily 
My cares I tend 
Now I have found 
Joy will abound 

Only in hearts by sense of service crowned. 
There are no wrinkles in my face ; 

My body bends with supple grace 
As, here in my appointed place, 

I fetch and fend 
And sweep the room 
With a stalwart broom 

That promptly chases away the spirit of gloom 
I used to pour on my drudgery. 

O sweet young World, now stop and see ! — 

As I were dancing, merrily, 

My cares I tend. 


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THE WHITE BLOSSOM 

A blossom opened near me 
Its petals to the night : 

In spite of utter darkness 
It shone a gleaming white. 

I welcomed it by night-time 
But in the morning dew 
I spurned its dreary chasteness 
And simple washed-out hue. 

For pinks and blues and purples 
I searched each garden-bed 
And proud, luxuriant roses, 

Saffron, cerise and red ; 

I tended them and watched them. 
Admiring all the day ; 

At dark their gorgeous colors 
Faded in night away : 

I longed for my first blossom — 
Rushed back the garden through 
And found it standing lonely, 

Perfectly white and true. 

******* 

Thus happens it in earnest : 

Man’s duty rises bright ; 

It stands there pure and changeless, 
His own soul’s beacon-light. 

In time of utter darkness 
He hails its guiding-power : 

Like to a trust from Heaven 
Seems the wide-open flower ; 


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47 


The morning with its sunshine 
Laughs his concern to flight : 
Gay-colored pleasures lure him 
He saw not in the night ; 

He rushes to them eager, 

Captive to every charm ; 

Night comes : they turn to blackness, 
Leaving the old alarm. 

Still looms the one white blossom — 
His duty — night and day, 

Like a white-lettered signpost. 
Marking his soul’s highway. 


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WALTER DE LA MARE 

He conjures out the slightest little thought 
Some home-abiding, simple soul might think 
And makes it live. Beneath his guiding care 
A casual word, a whispering, a wink 
Awake such depths of mystery or calm, 

Patient, we watch and wait. Soft as repose 
His nights come on and with them nightly shade, 

And with his days the light that daytime knows. 

A bird pirouetting on a hanging twig 

Gives to his ecstacy as sure delight 

As the grand shows it takes to move most men 

Who, midst their lives’ commotions, warp their sight. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


49 


MIDNIGHT 

How I do hate the silence that is still 
To heaviness! — the steady slow advance 
Of night-time past the borders of romance — 

Those half-bright realms that gentle fancies fill, — 

Past all that gives delight or comfort till 
It seems to change into a death-like trance 
In which a peopled world’s complete expanse, 
Spellbound, gives forth no sound — no living-thrill. 

There is no life ! Then senses, cloven-awake, 

Long for the noises that night-creatures make 
In lighter hours when through the sleepy air 
Sounds now and then some sudden insect’s chirring ; 

Or birds, within their nests their wrapped wings stirring, 
Show all goes well and joy and hope hang there. 


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TO R. L. S. 

(A New Tribute) 

O fresh, elated spirit, I rejoice 
No fettering war encompassed you about 
That hindered your rare genius from its choice 
To weave romantic tales and travels out ! 

So well you wove them, now, in midst of pain 
World-strife makes in me, I can look beyond 
The havoc for one moment and again 
Journey with you a care-free vagabond. 

You had your battle with a dread disease : 

How fitting you should live out all your days 
In peaceful times when every wafting breeze 
Could blow your craft unhampered through safe ways 
Or north, or east, or west, or through the maze 
Of islands basking calm in your South Seas. 


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51 


GRASSE 

O thou that motherest the exquisite bloom 
That down the gardened valley of the Var 
Creeps to the sunlit Sea, fulfill thy doom ! 

Now — teeming with the May time — near and far 
Open those orange-blossoms, odorous, 

And chaste to whiteness ; all those roses trail 
Up winding Alpine slopes more fragrantly 
Than Flora treads the halls mysterious 
Where gods and splendid goddesses regale. 

O little town, enjoy thy ecstacy 

For one short blissful moment but no more ! 

How well thou knowest thou must gather fast 
Each blossom since, so dread thy Minotaur, 

He makes demand that constant shall be passed 
Into the maws of stills insatiate 
Such tribute as the scarce-awakened breath 
Of new-born flowers ! Dead Theseus, where art thou 
When blushing rosebuds, jasmine fair, await 
Unaided those distilleries of death ? 

O Grasse that motherest, — canst murder now ? 


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DISAPPOINTMENT 

Disappointment, 

Stand you far away from me 
Holding out your misery ! 

Master I of my emotion, — 

You are not the engulfing ocean 
You would feign appear to be. 

I can keep you 

By stern effort quite away, 

Choose the power I would obey. 
Though the anguish in me lingers 
I have that within my fingers 
Which will save me, come what may 

From dejection. 

Dreams unrealized, dreams remain ! 
Loss but cries for greater gain ! 
Soul-deep in me balm of Gilead 
Balances the tipping steelyard 
From its overweight of pain ! 

So, Disappointment, 

I can plan and I can dare 
Further flight in loftier air : 

Dread of you shall serve as leaven 
Help me reach a fairer heaven 
Than my mind conceived was there. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


53 


REALMS WE FASHION 

What matchless realms we fashion for ourselves 
To keep our minds from brooding on the woe 
The world assigns to us ! No fairy elves, 

With magic dowered, nor gardeners ever grow 
Such flowers as we from the rich soil produce 
Of fertile minds. No architects create 
Such ecstacy of structure for their use 
As we for ours. We may but fabricate. 

Yet in the gardens where our flowers bloom 
Perennially, no sorrow hovers near, 

Nor does the very slightest sense of gloom 
Invade the graceful buildings that we rear 
To dwell in. Even through our corridors 
The whole day long a stream of sunshine pours. 


54 


Realms We Fashion — A Booh of Poems 


MEMORIES 

Up in the nursery where my darling plays 
I go by night and find the cunning ways 
One day he uses, the next casts aside, 

And like his toys they lie there near and wide. 
Into my memory as one fills a book 
I put them: first comes back the look 
Caught of a sudden out of his surprise 
When a shut box opened. Quickly he grew wise 
Each box tomorrow he will burst apart 
With little notice. Never will he start 
With this day’s rapture when across the floor 
A wound-up engine rushes. As might pour 
Rain to the roof they pound into my brain 
And I review a dozen times again 
A dozen baby actions. Let them be 
Strewn with his toys in the dark nursery ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


55 


THE STOIC I SEEM TO BE 

I seem a Stoic in my beliefs 
And a Spartan in my demands, 

So no person out of all the world 
Imagines or understands 

That I for a moment am what I am — 
A brand of persistent fire ! 

That my mind is ever at work to chill 
The unreason of my desire ! 

And, seeing a Stoic, people say : 

“How wondrous is her control ! ” 

Or others point in a pitying way 
To the woman without a soul. 

Yet something surely is soul to me 
That for years has struggled hard 
Its own essential worthiness 
And purity to guard. 

And no one knows of the day-long strife 
And the night-long misery 
Where I am fighting a battle of swords 
With the Stoic I seem to be ! 


56 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


THE MAN WHO WALKS ALONG OUR ROAD 

The man who walks along our road 
Goes past our house and up the hill, 

And even beyond I see him still 
Till suddenly the roadway bends 
And ends. 

Then either he must take the wood — 

With his persistency he could — 

Or skirt along it through the field 
That gives our best potato yield, 

And, having reached its outer edge, 

Climb our stonewall’s dividing-line. 

I scarce divine 

That he would come up here each day 
Just to go back that awkward way. 

So, certainly, he takes the wood 
As any true pedestrian should ; 

And, possibly, our well-marked trail 
Which looks as though it could not fail 
To bring him somehow, somewhere, out 
Of the swath forest’s roundabout. 

That trail will only take him back 
Of the old freight-yard’s switching track : 

Last place where he would care to be 
If he is quite the man I see 
Who walks alone along our road. 

The man who walks along our road 
Must have some lovelier place in mind, 

And, oh I wonder, does he find 
And well enjoy it every day ? — 

He may ! 

Or does he every daytime seek 
While I throw down my half-read book 
And hard out of my window look 
To watch him going up the hill, 

And watch him go beyond until 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


57 


He hides in woods I call my own. 

If all unknown 

I stood there in the dense dark green 
Would I remain there quite unseen, 
Or would he, turning, smile at me 
And beg me bear him company ? 


58 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


LIFE-SPIRIT 

{A Fantasy of the Roadside) 

In the country, guarded only 

By a watchdog great and lonely 

Who, in causing instant terror with his size, 

Full protects me, 

I can follow far my daydreams, 

Hither, thither, till the way seems 

Like a myth-pervaded region and the trees 

More than half enchanted. 

Rocks and brooks and chirping song-birds, 

On the winding roads the long herds 
Of slow cattle tell to me their separate tales, 

Each one speaking, 

And I hold with them communion. 

Sands of daytime all too soon run 

Down the glass that circumspectly holds the hours 

And sifts away my pleasure. 

Closely follows on the nightfall : 

Over all the land the light call 

Of the tree-toads and the other creature-sprites 

Cheers the darkness. 

Will-o’the-wisps above the thickets 
Light the katydids and crickets 

To their haunts and through the quickly-carrying air 
Sounds their incessant stridor. 

Soon ring round me hosts of fireflies : 

Each in flashing bright attire tries 
To engage my mind upon his magic dance 
And I linger — 

Keeping back my faithful watchguard 
While I listen for each catchword, 

And entering with them into closer fellowship 
Share in the night’s high vigil. 

Thus, by night or day wayfaring, 

To him who, with patient caring, 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


59 


Applies himself to search the true life-spirit out 
Each time and season, 

Each stretched-out meadow pied with clover, 
Each road or path he travels over 
Gives opportunity to seek the vital spark 
That makes the scene a real one. 

Spirits there lie in merest dust-grains. 

He finds them who in perfect trust trains 
His ready eyes to see their full significance. — 
Straightway he makes them 
Gods of the place in which he finds them : 

Breath of its breathing and he binds them 
Proudly to the important part within their sphere 
For which they were intended. 


60 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


THE FOOLISH VIRGINS 

(A New Version of an Old Parable) 

The foolish virgins are treading the green earth still, 

Carrying with them their brightly burnished lamps 
Like ornaments. 

The burners glisten and even the thumb-worn clamps, 

But the foolish virgins have forgotten the vessels to fill. 

Bearing also lamps of gleaming gold, 

Beside them walk other virgins and they are wise : 

From the hollow bowls 

All trimmed and ready to light the white wicks rise 
And the vessels are full of oil as their depths can hold. 

The Bridegroom enters the hall : toward the gladness within 
The wise with lamps well lighted their footsteps turn. 

Alas, Alack ! — 

The foolish try but they cannot make theirs burn : 

Let the wise pass on by themselves and the feast begin ! 

Yet with such foresight had the virgins wise been blessed. 

Enough of oil had they in their vessels to spare : 

“Hold now your lamps, 

Ye foolish ones, till we pour you a generous share 
And each of you then may go as a proper guest ! ” 

Together the virgins move on and with equal right, 

Both wise and foolish, they enter the delectable place ; 

But the foolish ones 

Stop to marvel among themselves ; the wise keep pace 
And approach the Bridegroom in his exceeding light. 

“O Master Bridegroom, tell us, have we done well 
To share our oil and not save ourselves alone ? ” 

“ Yea, verily,” 

The Bridegroom crieth : “ Not seeing, these would not have known 
The joys they had missed nor believed what your lips could tell.” 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


61 


O virgins wise, your eyes have the sight to see 
For yourselves and others so that you are wiser far 
Than those earlier virgins ; 

But the foolish virgins today more simple are 
Than ever were those in distant Galilee. 


62 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


LOVERS 

“ May we not stop and play for a little ? ” 

“ Not for a moment nor you nor I : 

We were made of the stuff of soldiers 
And we must work till the time we die.” 

“ But do you not see how other lovers 
Dance, silver-slippered, down paths of flowers. 

And their feet touch not the ground beneath them 
For hours on hours, — for hours on hours ? ” 

“ It may be that they are the world’s love-makers, 
While we for sterner pursuits were meant : 

No backs there are to our workshop-benches 
And yet our shoulders are not bent. 

It may be that we shall have strength like soldiers 
To keep to our places our whole lives long.” 

“ Yet soldiers even in the midst of warfare 
Are granted the time for an idle song.” 

“ Such a song is ours, my love, that its singing 
Would far outlast any idle days : 

Deep down in our hearts while we keep on working 
It will keep on singing always ! always ! ” 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


THE PAINTING 

I 

The Still Life 

Color ? Painter, give me yellow ! 
Where the busy proud bee sups 
Make a field ! — its greenness mellow : 
Daisies grow with buttercups ! 

Scatter them with country clover ! 
Fleur-de-lis will do for blue — 

Not, of course, the canvas over — 

Just a purple patch or two. 

Take an old stonewall for backing 
Where two sides at angle meet : 

Here and there a great stone’s lacking, 
Jarred sometime by human feet. 

Red of roses climbing over ! 

Grey wall broken down a bit. 

Yet no opening to discover 
The brown road in back of it ! 

That’s enough : for art’s sake only 
Place one tree behind the wall, 

Say an elm tree tall and lonely 
Against a sky that covers all ! 

******* 

Stand and watch it with me, Painter ! 
Naught on earth could be more still : 
Sounds of day grow faint and fainter, 
Summer breeze dies down at will. 


64 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


II 

The Motion Picture 

Look ! — the wall ! a child’s appearing, 
Clambering over fierce and fast 
As if some pursuer fearing ! 

She has reached the ground at last 

Closely followed by another, 

No, a woman, fair as day 
Like the child — her very mother 
Chasing hard her runaway. 

Let them crouch among the daisies : 
Painter, that’s their rightful place ! 
Child deep-tangled in the mazes, 
Mother with the frightened face ! 

Against the wall a man is reeling, 
Swaying sideways, staggering drunk, 

For a surer footing feeling 

Ouch ! behind the wall he has sunk ! 

Let him lie there at his pleasure 
Stunned a moment by the fall, — 

Help the mother guard her treasure : 
Leave him hid behind the wall! 

******* 

Look ! a tipping stone has tumbled 
With a dull death-dealing blow ! — 

He so loosed it when he stumbled 
It has dropped : My God, what woe ! 

No ! the woe is only ended ! 

Watch the mother and her child : 

God her cause has well defended, 

Yet your painting is undefiled ! 


Realms We Fashion—A Book of Poems 


65 


SPEND A BIT! 

Earn a little, spend a bit 
In a pleasing way ; 

Though you feel the want of it 
Many and many a day ! 

Just because you have not many 
Is no cause to save each penny : 
Time will come you need not any, — 
Take that as you may ! 

Earn a little, spend a bit ! 

Only once, they say, 

While successive seasons flit 
Shall we pass this way ! 


66 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


THE WIND-CREATURE 

Out of a flurry of wind 
Came a rough creature today, 

Jostled me hard in the street 
Crushed me and hurried away. 

Came he so swiftly and went 
Naught could I see of his face, 

Yet how his cruel hands hurt ! 

Panting I cried out for grace. 

Into a flurry of wind 

Went the rough creature away, 

Left me there standing alone, 

Weak and awry with dismay. 

Breath had he had of my breath, 

Life of my own life till I 
Struggled with feeling of death, 
Struggled for fear I might die. 

Finally there in the street, 

Fainting, I cried out again : 

“ Come back, whoever thou art ! 

Come with the smart and the pain, 

Bring me back breath from thy breath 
Blood if from blade of thy knife ! 

Fleet as the wind come and be 
Lover and lord of my life! ” 

Yet all in vain did I wait : 

Died the wind down fully spent, 

Died my hope too ! — in the dusk 
Wearily onward I went. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


67 


TORRENTS OF RAIN 

Torrents of falling rain, 

What can the reason be 

That you stab with sharp-edged knives of pain 
And injure cruelly 

The earth as it lies asleep 
And the living plants it holds. 

The still-closed buds it is trying to keep 
Till Springtime itself unfolds ? 

The morning light will show 
The damage your hand has done. 

Though you may have gone and will never know 
The result of your night of fun. 

Then, however much I tend, 

I shall not avert the doom ; 

I may prop them up and appear to mend : 
Shattered buds can never bloom ! 


68 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


THE DOUBTER 

I 

Questioning 

Washed-out daisy in the dew, 

Colorless as by a curse, 

In God’s scheme of universe 
What are you ? 

Or you, rose, with more of grace 
Basking in your gardened home, 

Do you in the mighty tome 
Find a place ? 

Living chiefly in your legs, 

Ugly spider, though alive. 

Think you God could aught contrive 
Of such dregs ? 

Beasts of burden, beasts of prey. 
Creeping things innumerable. 

Filled created Eden full : 

What meant they ? 

Woman, moulded more divine, 

Pulsed with life that overflows, 

Do you further — what one knows ? — 
His design ? 

Or you, self-asserting man, 

Though your fame should long endure, 
Are you part — can you be sure ? — 

Of the plan ? 

II 

Answered 

Comes a voice from God’s own Heaven 
To you answer plain is given, 

Doubter of His purposing, 

Look and find it in the Spring ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


69 


Watch each year the daisy grow, — 

Watch the rose rich petals show ! 

Weed and flower alike He tests : 

Naught in nature ever rests. 

Watch the spider weave and work ! — 

Work and weave and never shirk : 

In its web it holds its prey, 

Its self protects. Read as you may ! 

Watch the beasts and creeping things 
In their dumb manoeuverings ! 
Instinct-driven, they so decide 
That no man dares to deride. 

Watch the woman make or mar : 

Human lives her bronzes are, 

Moulds them sure and straight and strong 
Or chisels carelessly along. 

Man may think himself elect : 

Glorious things will God expect. 

Woman — man, alike are judged : 

All things counted, nothing grudged. 

Watch them — flower and beast and man — 
Work out His consummate plan ! 


70 


Realms We Fashion—A Book of Poems 


FAIRIES 

What shall I see if I look for fairies ? 

Nothing , surely , you dreamer of dreams! — 

Fairies died with the early ages 

And floated down with the wash of the streams. 

Yet the flowers still bloom on the rivers’ edges, 

And forests stand as they ever stood, 

And ferns fine-traced in the same green patterns 
Have kept earth’s beauty as well as they could. 

But man progresses : he has gone forward 
Past need of fairies and myths and elves. 

So to win relief from the strain of progression 
Men need some salve for their inner selves ! — 

Joys that are less than those they have reached for 
Marvels less than those they have seen ; 

Stars in a sky that has carried airships ; 

Groves unbroken in their virgin green ? 

Finding these , with the world's high tension , 

Will they not even then at the best 

Be in their beauty but pleasant places 

Where man may solve what his mind suggests f 

Why finding these should I not find fairies 
Raised to the thrones of the long ago ? — 

Ready to touch with enchanting fingers, 

Ready to lead from the world I know 

Into their kingdom of small delusions. 

Into the nothing they call a realm, 

Far from the noise of the jarring engines, 

Far from the tumults that overwhelm ? 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


71 


A GREAT WHITE WALL 

Near by the brook the strange reed-wands 
Their wavering music make 
And close behind a woman stands 
Deep in the tangled brake ; 

Her elbow touches a great white wall 
That stands like a guard and watches all. 
Wonderful shadows, gauntly tall, 

Start and sway and awake ! 

But why is the woman as pale, as ill, 

As though in an hour too soon 
A death-winged angel had taken her will 
And left her its ghastly swoon ? — 

Wee tiny fishes dart too and fro 
Coaxing small acorn crafts to go, — 

Is it possible that she does not know 
It is midsummer afternoon ? 

A bird flies down from an old oak tree 
And almost touches her hair ; 

He is gaily colored as a bird can be, 

But her eyes only vacantly stare. 

The great white wall hides a prison-cell : 
In an hour will ring out its evening bell, 
And it may be that it will her secret tell 
To the patiently waiting air. 


72 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


SINCE YOU HAVE THE CHOOSING 

What will you use for your health’s restoring ? — 
Phrases dipped in a bowl of balm ? 

Ships like eagles in mid-air soaring, — 

Ships like gulls on the sea’s blue calm ? 

Work for the brain or for hands’ employment, — 
Road for the feet that the toiler treads ? 

Music tuned to the soul’s enjoyment 

On a close succession of tightened threads ? 

Beauty bared to its very bleeding, — 

Beauty hid till you search the scent ? 

Weak souls tied to your own soul’s leading, 
Strong souls that better your high intent ? 

What will you use since you have the choosing ? 
You who have in you the power to save — 

Somewhere surely past chance of losing 
Lies the health that you long to have. 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


73 


A WHITE NIGHT 

A white night its protection gives — 
Safe passage for all men 
Who walk the earth and as they walk 
Can see distinctly when 
To take the turnings they must make 
Ere they reach home again. 

For a white night means a covering 
Of snow spread everywhere, 

And if the stars shine and the moon 
Through the clear and still white air 
Man sees all others that he meets 
To mark them foul or fair. 

But friendliness such nights beget 
To darker nights denied. 

Tall trees with bared arms plainly seen 
No lurking secrets hide ; 

Nor evergreens high-crowned with snow 
Their immaculate mates beside. 

So brings a white night happiness 
To him who is abroad ; 

No terror lodges in his mind 
Nor sense of sham or fraud, — 
Around is brightness like the day 
And overhead is God ! 


74 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


SHADOWS 

The shadows that are strewn across the earth 
Are all the shadows that my eyes shall see ! — 
Half of the time they frolic in their mirth 
And dance and play around me merrily. 

Even when, night-cast, they lie immense and still, 
I have no right to think they bear ill-will. 

Like puddles are they shallow, and the moon 
Can scatter them and make their places bright 
Or into deepest woodland just at noon, 

Though overlapping trees have closed the light 
The morning long, the heightened sun can shake 
A string of lustrous pearls and so awake 

Dank moss and sleeping ferns till many a frond 
Reaches to grasp it and possess the treasure ; 
This leaf falls short and that one lies beyond, 

But some will catch and so derive the pleasure. 

These are earth's shadows : — I shall see hut these. 
And smile to find them underneath the trees ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Booh of Poems 


75 


NIGHT-TIME 

I could not give thee up if all my day 
Because of thee, night-time, were taken away. 

I could not give thee up if nevermore 
Stood Opportunity at my own door ! 

Not if the vastly-peopled universe 
Cried out on me an everlasting curse. 

Because I love thee so ! 

I do not know 

Aught lovelier than twilight as it slips 
Into the evening’s darkness. On its lips 
The last hushed sounds of closing day still breathe 
And they bequeathe 

Thoughts to the thinking ones, love to the loving ; 
Rest to the weary ones their work approving. 

So slips the hour along 
With evensong 

Till night in outstretched arms cradles mankind. 
Then we who have within us joy of mind 
Need not at once the luxury of sleep 
So cherished is the intercourse we keep 
Just with ourselves. 

Though midnight’s rung-out twelves 
Sound to our quietness a strange alarm 
Of wakefulness that means to do us harm, 

It just as suddenly is put to flight 
With deeper drowsiness that full midnight 
Brings to our souls, 

And it at last controls 

So that we sink into a happy state 

Where time means nothing. — Life itself must wait ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


THE TRUE CONCORD 

I wonder if some summer afternoon, 

Spendthrift of beauty and of joy and June, 

Laughter diffusing and with blossoms free — 

Roses and honeysuckle climbing up to me — 

Could put my soul in tune ? 

Or if a softly languorous, moon-dazed night, 

With earth half darkness and all heaven in sight, 
Stooping to shield the weary sons of men 
Who rest from toil to rise and toil again, 

Could bring me peace and light ? 

Could sailing ships that carry men to sea, 

If they sailed far enough conveying me, 

Find me contentment in some unknown land 
Where man needs not to reach the goal he planned 
In youth’s stout certainty ? 

What if the joys on which a whole world dotes, 
Passing in pageant like so many floats — 

Art, beauty, riches — all fail in the test 
To bring up to the true pitch of the rest 
The loose discordant notes ? 

Till finally, some dark distasteful day, — 

Some gamin, maybe, getting in my way, 

Or some lame beggar on his dirty crutch 
Soiling my coatsleeve with his fingers’ clutch, — 

I shudder with dismay : 

Repelled so far by the misshapen back, 

Repelled so far by the unsightly lack 
Of form and beauty, suddenly I find 
The naked soul, controlling heart and mind, 

In pain upon the rack ! 


Realms We Fashion — A Book of Poems 


77 


What if strange sights from which my eyes rebel — 
Sights which have meant for me not heaven but hell — 
Stab their stern meaning to my tortured soul 
Till chords, new-found, into the discords roll 
And the true pitch compel ? 

And if at last my true self, waking strong, 

With such tense passion longs to assuage the wrong, 
No undertaking seems too great to dare, 

Seeking the means to service ? — What if there 
Full-tuned starts out the song ? 


78 


Realms We Fashion—A Book of Poems 


Unwritten have dropped from the finished hook 
Many leaves I had meant to write , 

Which , perhaps , my God had intended for me 
By giving my mind the power to see 
With a strong , deep-seeing sight. 

Yet I rue it not , though I may have lost 
Somewhat of the book’s fair fame , 

For should not , high in the heaven of love , 

The counting he made the same 

If I have turned from my writing-pad 
To touch with my human hand 
Some creature of His who needed such touch 
In order to understand f 










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